


Morning (Can We Start It All Over Again?)

by jennfics



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/pseuds/jennfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of established olicity drabbles, all centering around a bed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning (Can We Start It All Over Again?)

**Author's Note:**

> For #cl5eva; title inspired by Beck's Morning (go listen to it...now).

Loving Felicity Smoak is a very good thing for Oliver Queen.

 

He spends a little more time in the shower now than usual, pays special attention to the (more carefully groomed than he'd like to admit to) stubble that outlines his face, and uses the organic beard conditioner she purchased for him. He'd protested at first, pulling it from _his_ side of her shower caddy and leaving it on the counter.

After the fifth time of finding the bottle on the bathroom counter, Felicity had finally demanded outright.

 

" _Oliver, I need you to use this because I've heard it helps soften your stubble, which you know I love when it's on your face and mostly when it's against my skin. But sometimes, it kind of...you know..."_

_She waved her hand in the air dismissively, eyes darting everywhere but his. "Scratches. Well, more like scrapes...in...places," she paused. "Places where a person might not want to be scraped because it's a umm...you know," the blush that had started on her cheeks was rising to meet her temples, and slowly creeping down along her neck._

_"You know," she stumbled, "places that are, uh, delicate. Yes, delicate and might not want to be scraped. Well, no. That's not exactly right because it definitely feels like, probably the best thing ever at the time, well not probably. More like definitely..."_

_He should have stopped her, really. But there's nothing quite like watching a full-on Felicity Smoak babble._

_"I think I've gotten off topic, haven't I? Ok, I'm stopping in 3, 2, 1..."_

_She took a deep breath and shoved the bottle at him before turning to walk away, but called out over her shoulder what she'd been trying to say to begin with._

_"It gives me beard burn on my thighs so could you please handle it?"_

 

Maybe he laughs every time he picks up the bottle, but he hasn't forgotten to use it since. He finishes up quickly, eager to crawl back into bed. One of the perks of being the earlier riser of the two is the extra cuddle time they can sneak in when they aren't both simultaneously clamoring to shower or dress. Turning off the spray, he grabs a towel from the drying rack and wraps it tightly around his waist.

Standing in front of the mirror as he grabs for his toothbrush, his reflection catches his eye. What he sees surprises him; eyes usually rimmed with tiredness are bright and alert. There's an ease to his features that he hasn't seen in almost a decade. But it's the slight upturn of his normally stoic mouth that amuses him most. No one could say now that Oliver Queen never smiles.

 

Finishing up, he leaves the bathroom eager to get to the cuddle time part of his morning, but stops short when he reaches the edge of the bed. She's still asleep, spread out across the top of the white down comforter.

Her hair is a mess across her face, nesting at the crown of her head. She's pressed her nose into the pillow, and he watches as her shoulders rise and fall evenly. The first few mornings they'd woken up together he had nudged her to roll over or pulled her across his body and tucked her head under his chin, fearful she'd suffocate from how deeply she'd burrowed into the pillow.

The expanse of her back and curve of her exposed spine calls to him, and the sudden, desperate need to press his lips to each vertebrae is overwhelming. And Oliver is blissfully aware of her completely naked form. Very, _very_ aware, actually.

 

Dropping the towel at his feet, he climbs on to the bed slowly, trying hard not to disturb her. His palms run over her legs, massaging first her calves, thumbs rubbing in small circles and digging into the tender muscles. As his hands move up her thighs, he leans back on his heels and lets his fingers trail along her shins, slowly dragging toward the sensitive flesh at the back of her knee. She stretches her legs out farther, twitching her hips from side to side. Stealing a glance to her face, he can make out the ghost of a smile playing at her lips, barely there in her half-sleep and half-dream state.

He gently parts her legs wide enough to sandwich himself between them, his knees parallel with her upper thighs. The sight before him is his favorite - her glorious backside, round and plump and proportioned just enough for two hands full. Massaging his way from the backs of her thighs and over her ass, he slowly drags his fingers up her sides lightly, nails barely scratching over her skin. She hums and turns her face to the side, eyes still tightly shut. When a sleepy mumble of his name escapes her lips, he grins like an idiot.

He reaches a hand out to brush the hair from her face, sweeping the strands back with his fingers and lets them linger against her cheek. He watches as she angles her face closer to his touch. There's a tightness in his chest causing him to still, and he takes a deep breath in.  _This woman_ , he thinks.

 

Carefully, he rests his arms on either side of her body, encasing her in his warmth. He takes his time, always, drawing from her sounds of contentment and pleasure. The assault of his lips against her bare back has her moaning in satisfaction within seconds. Tracing each line, each dip, each curve with his lips and gentle flicks of his tongue, she responds by arching to meet him. In a slow, methodical rhythm, he creates a path along her spine, up then down. Up then down. He detours over the sharp curves of her shoulder blades, running his teeth lightly against the taught skin. When goosebumps rise under his touch, he grins into the nape of her neck and nips lightly before soothing the skin with a gentle press of his lips.

Finally reaching her jaw, he nuzzles her cheek with his nose before stealing a quick kiss from her warm, soft lips.

But she pulls away with a groan, burying her face more into her pillow.

"Haven't brushed yet..."

"Like I care," is all he can manage, as he presses his lips to hers again, harder this time. Wanting better access to her mouth, he cups her chin, turning her face to meet his. She responds this time eagerly, biting down on his lower lip with that perfect amount of pressure she knows makes him groan. He pulls back to look at her, eyes still closed and mouth pursed waiting for his kiss. He pecks her lips _once, twice, three times,_ before drawing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. When her lips part, he glides his tongue in to massage against hers. This is one of those moments when awareness and wanting are in perfect synergy. There is nothing that compares to this particular feeling of _rightness_. 

 

She's panting lightly against his mouth when he releases her. He moves his lips down her chin and across her jaw slowly while catching his breath - tiny pecks and easy, lazy kisses that warm through her skin to her bones. 

"What brought this on? Not that I'm complaining..."

Her voice is rough with sleep, but so, _so_  light. She reaches out to him blindly, following from his shoulder down his arm to twine the fingers of her left hand with his as he presses her deeper into the mattress.

"I'm happy," he whispers into her ear, his breath ruffling the white blonde wisps along her hairline.

Smiling, she finally opens her eyes. There's sun peaking in through the slats in the blinds, crisscrossing the hardwood of her bedroom floor. Her glasses are out of reach and the time on the alarm is too blurry for her to make out from the bed. It's greedy, she knows, but she can't help wishing in that moment for the power to stop time - to steal these precious minutes and hold them tight. When so much in life is uncertain, she's sure of one thing. 

"Me too," her voice is barely a whisper. "So happy."

She tugs his hand toward her chest, wrapping his arm tightly around her, breathing in deep. The weight of his body against her back, the smell of soap and a particular organic beard conditioner, that light shining through the window - this moment is theirs, a triumph of happiness in the quiet of a weekday morning. 


End file.
